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Rachel Vernon Poem
“ I don’t want to do this today.” That’s the conversation always circling in my head—a quiet fight with myself just to do it. The hardest part is going. I can’t. I won’t. Please don’t make me. I know I’m blessed—so lucky, really—but where did the desire go? It’s lost. Gone. I let it slip away. Is it 5 o’clock yet? No, it’s not even nine. Go without me. I’ll follow. I say that, but I won’t. I know I won’t. The hardest part is walking out the door.
Are you going tomorrow? Of course, I say. Lying. Not because I want to—just good intentions that will go bad. Prisoner in my own mind. You don’t want to hear about it today? That’s fine. I’m okay. I’m not.
I want to go home. But I am home. Alone, in a house full of people. Knots twist in my stomach. Something feels off. I want to visit my mom. I never go. My dad misses me. I miss you too. I never show. I want to. I mean to. I don’t.
I’m so lucky. I know. I have no right to feel this way.
My kids are watching. They see everything. I’m a role model. I’m failing. Do as I say, not as I do. The dread hangs on me like wet clothes. I need help. Maybe I need something. But nothing’s missing. Everything’s perfect. That’s the worst part. No enemies, just me. Regret. I didn’t go again. I’m sorry. Always sorry. Crying, but I can’t feel a thing. Lie. I feel everything. Too much. Self-sabotage—it’s a thing.
Copyright © Rachel Vernon | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Rachel Vernon Poem
I remember that feeling—
The pain.
The lump in my throat.
I wanted to cry.
I was so angry.
But why?
New text alert flashed across your phone:
“Thanks for the ride home ??”
It read.
“Love, Rose.”
My heart dropped.
I froze—
Filled with dread.
You lay there asleep,
Unaware of what I’d just read.
My thoughts started racing:
What do I do?
Who the heck is she!?
My head throbbed.
I felt so lost.
And then—I cried.
What does she have that I don’t?
Does he love her?
What are his other replies?
I remember
Wanting to open that message,
Needing to see—
What do they talk about?
Is she prettier?
Does she know about me?
So many questions.
So much pain.
I remember that feeling.
And it still hurts the same.
Copyright © Rachel Vernon | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Rachel Vernon Poem
I think I’m broken—
not shattered,
just cracked in quiet places
where no one can see.
I keep trying,
God, I keep trying.
I swear I thought I was doing better.
I put on my brave face,
my “I’m fine” smile,
my “everything’s okay” voice—
but it slips.
It always slips.
Maybe I’ll go back to therapy,
let someone dig through the rubble
and name the pieces of me
I’ve been too afraid to touch.
He’s tired of me—
I feel it.
He doesn’t have to say it.
It’s in the sigh before he speaks,
the silence after.
It’s in the way his eyes
look through me now,
like he’s searching for the girl
he used to recognize.
He says I make him feel heavy
when he’s just trying to help.
And I know he’s right.
I know.
But I don’t want to be a weight anymore.
I don’t want to be the reason
his shoulders sag.
I can handle anyone else being mad at me—
anyone but him.
Because when he turns away,
the whole world goes quiet.
So I’ll keep my distance.
I’ll learn to swallow the ache
before it spills out of me.
I’ll try to stay soft,
stay light,
stay good.
I’ll try to always, always, always
be in a good mood.
Even if it kills the parts of me
that still remember how to feel.
Copyright © Rachel Vernon | Year Posted 2025
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